


Don't Know If We'll Make It (Cause We're Fallin Under)

by fairylightsandrainydays



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Julie and The Phantoms (TV 2020), Julie and the Phantoms
Genre: Alex Mercer Has Anxiety (Julie and the Phantoms), Alex is Aziraphale, Alternate Universe - Good Omens Fusion, Angst, Armageddon, But They Still Have The Mental States of 17 year olds, Clowngate 4.0, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Good Omens crossover, Hurt/Comfort, I Still Can't Believe That's Not a Tag Yet, Like They're 6000 Years Old, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, So aged up but not really, Technically Aged Up, What Did You Expect, Willie is Crowley, You don't need any prior knowledge to read it, angst bois, he/they willie, i'll add more tags as i go along, its me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29981142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairylightsandrainydays/pseuds/fairylightsandrainydays
Summary: Here is the Great Plan:- The Antichrist is born- The Antichrist receives a dog for his birthday and names it, coming into his full power- Armageddon begins- The Earth is doomedThat is what was written and what will happen.Or rather, that is what was written, and the following is what actually happened after an angel and a demon had something to say about it.
Relationships: Alex Mercer & Julie Molina & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters, Alex Mercer & Julie Molina & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters & Willie, Alex Mercer & Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Alex Mercer/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Flynn & Alex Mercer & Carlos Molina & Julie Molina & Ray Molina & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters, Flynn & Julie Molina & Carrie Wilson, Flynn/Carrie Wilson, Julie Molina/Luke Patterson
Comments: 31
Kudos: 24





	1. Prologue, Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the AU I've been wanting to bring to the world for a while now! Hope you like it! (Oh and you don't need to have any prior knowledge of Good Omens to read this)

**_Garden of Eden, just after the beginning, 4004 B.C_ **

Our story starts as it ends: with a garden. In this case, the garden of Eden.

It’s a nice day. All the days have been nice. There have been rather more than seven of them so far, and rain hasn’t been invented yet. But clouds massing east of Eden suggests that a thunderstorm is on its way, and it’s going to be a big one.

The angel of the Eastern Gate shuffles uncomfortably on his feet. “I’m sorry,” he says politely, “what were you saying?”

“I  _ said _ ,” says the serpent, “that went down like a lead balloon.”

“Oh. Yes.” says the angel, whose name is Alexander.

“I mean,” the serpent continues, “it’s a bit of an overreaction, isn’t it? First offense and everything?” he pauses, considering. “I can’t figure out what’s so bad about knowing the difference between Good and Evil anyway.”

“Well it must  _ be  _ bad,” reasons Alexander, in the tone of someone who agrees and is worried by that fact, “or else you wouldn’t have been involved.”

The serpent, whose name is William (though they’ve been thinking of changing it. William, he’s decided, just doesn’t work for his energy), shrugs and says, “they just said ‘get up there and make some trouble.’”

“Yes, but you’re a  _ demon _ -” Alexander pauses, silently asking for the serpent’s name. 

“William.”

“William,” Alexander says and then goes back to his point. “It’s what you do.” He feels as though he is losing control of the conversation quite quickly.

“Not very subtle of the Almighty, though,” continues William, who doesn’t notice Alexander’s discomfort. “A fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a ‘Don’t Touch’ sign on it. I mean, why not put it on top of a high mountain?” he gestures at the sky. “Or the moon?”

They nudge Alexander, who has been staring off into the coming storm. Alexander starts and then looks at William. “Probably good not to dwell on it,” he says in response to William’s question. “It’s all part of the Great Plan.” he spreads his hands in front of him fancifully, possibly to indicate said plan.

“It’s not for us to understand,” he pauses, and then, with the tone of someone who is proud of the word they’ve just thought of, says, “it’s  _ ineffable _ .”

William scoffs. To him, it sounds as though Alexander is grasping at straws. “The Great Plan’s  _ ineffable? _ ”

“Yes. It’s… beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words.” Alexander says with a voice of finality.

William, who sees that pursuing the topic any more would be fruitless, changes the subject. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”

Alexander pales, casting his eyes down. William continues, “you  _ did _ , it was flaming like Heaven! I thought it looked cool. What happened to it? You haven’t lost it already, have you?”

Alexander mutters, “gave it away,” under his breath, and William adopts a face of awe and disbelief. “You  _ what? _ ”

“I  _ gave it away! _ ” shouts Alexander with fire in his eyes, and William’s gaping mouth settles into a small smile. “There are  _ dangerous  _ animals!” Alexander plows on, “it’s going to be  _ cold  _ out there, okay, and she’s about to have a baby!” He indicates the pair of humans, some ways away from the gates of Eden, clothing of leaves covering their modesty. Eve  _ is  _ quite visibly expecting.

“And I said, here you go, a flaming sword, don’t thank me, and  _ don’t  _ let the sun go down on you here.” His voice is that of a being who knows too much, and he turns to William, the fire swiftly being replaced by worry. “You don’t think I did the wrong thing, did you?”

William looks at him, bewildered. They don’t know how to handle worried angels, he barely knows how to handle euphoric demons. What he settles on is “well, you’re an angel. I don’t think you  _ can  _ do the wrong thing.”

Alexander’s face relaxes, and William internally pats themself on the back. “Oh, thank you. I’ve been worrying about that.”

William nods, “I’ve been worried, too. What if I did the right thing with the whole ‘eat the apple’ thing? A demon can get in a lot of trouble for doing the  _ right  _ thing.” Alexander is silent, and William continues on. It’s quite hard to talk to this angel. Perhaps that’s why he’d Fallen. Angels are just hard to make conversation with. “It’d be funny, wouldn’t it? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one?”

Alexander offers them a distant smile and then processes what William said. “No!” he exclaims. “That wouldn’t be funny at all!”

William nods. “Ah.” 

And they both fall silent.

As the storm moves in, Alexander lifts his wing above the head of the serpent and William crowds under it. It may be near impossible to speak to an angel, but they can be quite nice umbrellas.

* * *

**_Mesopotamia, 3004 B.C_ **

“Hello, Alexander!” 

The angel tenses as a child of the  _ opposition  _ swings into the left of him. It’s William, their brown hair straight and stringy. The air is thick with the scent of a coming storm, and Alexander merely nods at the demon, keeping his eyes on the ship, steadily filling with animals, two by two.

“So,” says William. “Giving the humans a flaming sword, how’d that work out for you?”

Alexander glances down. “The Almighty hasn’t actually mentioned it again.” 

William nods. “Probably a good thing.” they sigh. “So what’s happening here?” he gestures to the ship. “Build a big boat, fill it with a traveling zoo?”

Alexander leans closer to the demon, muttering, “from what I hear, God’s pretty angry. Wiping out the human race with a big storm.”

William’s snakelike eyes widen. “ _ All  _ of them?” he asks in disbelief. The locals, they can understand, but he can’t think of a reason for God to be angry with, say, the Alaskans.

“Oh, just the locals,” says Alexander in a reassuring tone. “I don’t think the Almighty’s upset with the Chinese. Or the Native Americans. Or the Australians.”

“ _ Yet _ ,” mutters William. He was never one for mass eradication of innocent humans, demon or no.

“Oh, but it’s not  _ all  _ the locals,” Alexander says as if trying to point out the Good in all this. He gestures to the ship. “I mean, Noah, up there, his whole family, they’re going to be  _ fine _ .”

William shakes their head. “But She’s drowning everyone else?” Alexander only nods, and William looks around at the amassed crowd. “Not the  _ kids _ , you can’t kill the kids,” he says, a hint of desperation in their voice.

“Mhm.” says the angel, as though he wants to say more, but is afraid to agree with William. The demon shrugs. “Seems like something you’d more expect  _ my  _ side to do.” Any trace of desperation has vanished like dust in the wind.

“Yes, but when it’s  _ done _ ,” Alexander grasps for a hold on the side of the Almighty, “God’s going to put up a new thing in the sky, called a rainbow. It’s a promise, not to, erm, drown anyone again.”

William rolls his eyes, and in a fanciful voice, says, “how  _ kind _ .”

Alexander heaves a great sigh and turns to the demon. “You can’t judge the Almighty, William. God’s plans are-”

“Are you going to say  _ ineffable? _ ”

Alexander falters. “Maybe.”

William shakes his head and turns away, calling out to one of the humans. “Hey, Shem! There’s a unicorn that’s trying to make a run for it!” they point at the unicorn, darting away from the ship like the wind. In the blink of an eye, it’s gone, and William calls again, “oh, it’s too late. It’s too late!”

He turns back to Alexander and mutters, “ah, well, they still have one of them.”

Alexander doesn’t bring up that the remaining unicorn will be the only one of its kind after this. He doesn’t want to burst William’s bubble. (Though why that is, he couldn’t say. Perhaps it’s just his angelic tendencies).

* * *

**_Golgotha, 33 A.D_ **

There’s a constant murmur coming from the man on the cross, interspersed with small whimpers of pain. “Father,  _ please _ \- you must forgive them - they don’t know what they’re doing.” 

It’s a bit strange for Alexander to hear the young man refer to Her as  _ Father _ , as although the Almighty is genderless and may choose the pronouns and words She prefers, Alexander has only ever known Her as female.

But then, perhaps young Jesus knows better, being the direct descendant of Her. Alexander is only a principality, after all.

“What are you doing here? Picture with the condemned?”

Alexander turns to his left and meets the snakelike eyes of William, who is dressed in a long black dress, sweeping their feet. His brown hair is lightly covered with a scarf, probably to keep out the sand that seems to be so  _ constant  _ here. (Truly, why couldn’t the Almighty have had Her son in, say, Antarctica? Less sand there, at least.)

He processes the demon’s words and is astounded by what William is implying. “A  _ photo?  _ With  _ him?  _ Well, first of all, photography hasn’t been invented here yet, and second,  _ why  _ would I be inclined to do that?”

William shrugs. “Your side put him up there, right?”

Alexander sighs. “Yeah, I guess. But I wasn’t a  _ part  _ of those conversations, William.”

“Oh, I’ve changed it.” the demon says, focusing on something completely different, rather than what Alexander was trying to prove. The angel furrows his brow, confused. “Changed… what?”

“My name.  _ William  _ wasn’t right for me. A bit too… sneaky. Snakelike. Seems like the name a trickster would wear.”

“Well, you  _ are  _ a demon. So, what is it now? Mephistopheles? Asmodeus?” Alexander asks, only  _ slightly  _ teasing.

“Willie.” is what the demon simply says, and then he flashes a small smile at Alexander (a rarity for a demon). Strangely, Alexander finds that it fits. He hums in response. He’ll keep the name in mind.

Willie hisses, looking at the poor man on the cross, nails still going through his feet. “That has to hurt.”

"Did you ever… did you ever meet him?" asks Alexander, his voice lowered out of respect.

“Yes,” Willie says, if a little bit proudly (this is Christ, after all). “He was a smart young man. I showed him all the kingdoms of the world.”

"Why?" asks Alexander.

Willie shrugs. “He’s a  _ carpenter  _ from  _ Galilee _ . His travel opportunities are  _ limited _ .”

A small smile comes Willie's way, quickly tamped down by the sound of Jesus’ wails as the Roman soldiers hoist the cross into the air. “What was it that he said that made them so angry?” Willie asks, their voice dampened in what seems like sorrow. But that can’t be so, because he’s a demon, and they are incapable of feeling.

“Be nice to each other,” Alexander replies, and  _ his  _ voice is filled with sorrow because the boy was meant to be the best of all humans.

“Oh, yeah, that’ll do it.” says Willie, apparently understanding why a human would kill a man for encouraging kindness.

He is a demon, after all.

* * *

**_Rome, 41 A.D_ **

Willie sidles up to the bar, slaps their hand down on the wood. “What do you have?” he asks the bartender. “Give me whatever you think is drinkable.” 

The bartender nods, moving away from the bar and to the jugs of drink on the shelves lining the back wall. Willie internally thanks a man he’d tempted into stealing grapes from the market for his inspiration to wear glasses to cover his snakelike eyes. Before, whenever they’d tried to get a drink, the bar patrons all tried to talk to him about  _ his fascinating eyes _ , or yell at them and call him  _ demon _ (which he  _ is,  _ but it doesn’t speed the tempting along if their victims all know he’s Hellspawn).

He’s had a long… day? Week? Year? He doesn’t know, they just want to forget about it. Caleb’s been on his back for ages now,  _ how many souls have you secured for our Master of late, William? How is the opposition doing, William? _

Willie hasn’t seen Alexander for quite a while, actually. He must still be on Earth, otherwise, they wouldn’t be hearing about miracles being performed every other week in some village. Really, that angel is entirely too loose with his miracles. 

“A jug of house brown,” the bartender slides over Willie’s drink and holds out their hand. “Two scersteces.” 

Willie slides the Roman currency over the bar (if he’d taken it from a traveler some time before, that’s his business, isn’t it? Besides, it’s their whole  _ thing _ .)

His ears perk when he hears their name slip from angelic lips. “William - Willie?” 

He turns to meet the eyes of the angel, who is offering him a small smile. On a normal day, they’d smile back (which is another thing Caleb’s been calling him out on: being too  _ nice _ , apparently), but today, he’s frustrated. Well, at least the angel remembered their name.

He nods at Alexander, who takes that as his invitation to sit next to Willie. “I wondered when I’d be seeing you again!” he says, and then, as though he’s trying to make small talk, says, “still a demon?”

_ As if he has a choice in the matter. _

“Of course I’m still a demon!” they snap. “What else would I be, an aardvark?” Then, at Alexander’s shocked and slightly hurt face, he sighs and slides the jug of drink to the angel. Alexander pours himself a glass and lifts it to tap against Willie’s.

“Salutaria.” the angel says, and downs the drink. (They could be mistaken, but Willie isn’t entirely sure angels are  _ supposed  _ to drink alcohol. Ah, well, anything to spur the wiles of Hell along, he supposes.)

“Are you in Rome long?” Alexander asks. Still trying to make small talk. Willie shakes his head. “Just stopped by for a quick temptation. You?”

“I thought I’d try Petronius’ new restaurant. Did you hear he’s discovered a new way to serve sausages? He calls it a  _ hot dog _ .” 

There’s a bright smile on Alexander’s face, and Willie finds it only a little bit endearing.

“I’ve never eaten a hot dog,” he says, and Alexander’s face changes to playful teasing. “Well, let me  _ tempt  _ you -” then, at Willie’s raised eyebrow, “- but that’s your job, isn’t it?”

His face falls a little bit, and Willie downs their glass, offering a hand to the angel. “Shall we?”

Alexander’s smile comes back and he takes Willie’s hand, leading him out of the bar.

And this is  _ definitely  _ against the rules of being a demon, but he does it anyway, because isn’t that the whole point of being a demon? Breaking the rules?

* * *

**_Kingdom of West Essex, 537 A.D_ **

A voice cuts through the dense fog that Willie and their knights have been hiding in for the past few hours, waiting for prey to ambush.

“Hello?”

They think he recognizes the voice, but it’s muffled, probably by the cold metal of a visor on one of the suits of armor the humans find so fascinating these days. Probably nothing but an ignorant human. He signals their knights to move forward through the fog, and the voice calls out again if a little unsteadily,

“I, Sir Alexander, of the Table Round, am here to speak with the Black Knight.”

_ Bless it all to heaven,  _ he does know that voice. And unfortunately for them,  _ he  _ is the renowned Black Knight, so he steps through the fog and points their sword at the angel’s throat.

Best to keep up appearances around the humans.

“You have sought the Black Knight, foolish one, but you will find your death.”

Alexander pauses. “Is that you under there, William?”

Willie sighs. So much for keeping up appearances. They flick up to his visor and see Alexander do the same. “Willie,” they correct.

Alexander stares at him. “What in Hell are you doing here?”

Willie detects the advancement of his knights on the angel and waves a hand. “It’s all right, guys, I know him. He’s alright,” he calls, and then turns back to Alexander, shrugging.

“I’m here… spreading foment.” (quite literally, Caleb had sent him a memo:  _ go and spread some foment, William. _ )

Alexander cocks his head. “Is that a type of porridge?”

“No, you know, foment! Dissent and discord!” they gesture at the snowy forest around him. “King Arthur’s been promoting too much peace and tranquility in the land, so I’m here, you know,  _ fomenting _ .”

Fundamentally, that’s what he’s been doing, but they also picked a flower for an elderly woman recently (she  _ deserved  _ it,  _ okay?  _ Living to an age like hers in times like these is  _ highly improbable _ ).

“Huh,” says Alexander (he really has to come up with a shorter version of that name. It gets quite annoying, having to pronounce all four syllables any time they speak to the angel). “I’m supposed to be… fomenting peace.”

Willie blinks. “So we’re both working very hard in very damp places,” (West Essex is  _ rainy _ , all right?) “and we’re just canceling each other out?”

“Well, I guess when you put it that way, yeah. It  _ is  _ pretty damp,” says Alexander, looking around.

“It’d be a bit easier if we just stayed home, huh? Just sent messages to our head offices saying we’d done everything they’d asked, yeah?”

Alexander stares at Willie, bewildered and seemingly a little bit worried. “But that would be lying.”

Isn’t that the whole  _ point  _ of being a demon?

“The end result would still be the same, though,” is what he says. “We’d cancel each other out.”

“But that would be  _ lying _ ,” says Alexander again, as though  _ that’s  _ his greatest worry. “They’d  _ check _ .” He looks over his shoulder and then mutters, “Michael’s a bit of a stickler, and you do  _ not  _ want to get on Gabriel’s bad side.”

Willie blinks. Do the angels  _ really  _ check to see if a lowly principality is meeting his monthly quota of miracles? It seems a bit excessive to them.

“Ah. My side has better things to do than making sure minor beings get their jobs done on Earth.” he says, trying to sympathize with the angel. “As long as they get the paperwork, they seem fine with it. As long as you’re seen doing  _ something _ , you know what I mean?”

They’re proposing an idea with the angel, and when the fool catches on, his face is that of someone who hasn’t been very pleasantly surprised at all. “ _ No!  _ Absolutely not! There’s no  _ way  _ I’m doing that!”

Willie is a bit taken aback at the angel’s reaction since it really seemed like he was beginning to soften to the idea.

“We’re not having this conversation,” says Alexander frantically. “Nope, nope,  _ nope _ .”

And it really looks like he’s a bit panicked now, so Willie nods stolidly. “Right.” 

He flips his visor down, and the angel does the same. From under the cold metal, he hears a muffled, “right.”

* * *

**_Globe Theater, London, 1601_ **

Alexander trades two shillings for a sprig of grapes, even though, as an angel, he doesn’t actually  _ need  _ them (They taste nice, alright?). He’s supposed to be meeting Willie here, though why the demon thought they’d be  _ inconspicuous  _ in a near-empty theater is  _ beyond  _ him.

The man on the stage, who Shakespeare called  _ Burbage _ is prattling on about “to be” and “not to be” and Alexander doesn’t really know why he’s asking questions like that. It seems dangerously close to the age-old question of Good and Evil, and he doesn’t want a repeat of Eden (the paperwork would be Hell).

He senses a non-human presence and looks to his left, where Willie is now standing, his usual glasses over his eyes and their chocolate hair cascading over his shoulders. 

Alexander nods at him and immediately jumps into the  _ main  _ issue of the moment. “I thought you said we’d be inconspicuous here,” he says, if a little judgmentally.

Willie raises their eyebrows at the angel. “Isn’t Shakespeare supposed to be one of the greatest playwrights now? I thought the theater would be packed.”

He pauses, listening to the man on stage for a moment (“Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows…”), then shakes their head. “This must be one of his boring ones.”

He hails down the woman selling fruit and buys an orange, and as they’re peeling it, the young playwright himself approaches them. “Prithee, gentles,” he says, his voice thin, “might I request a small favor?” he asks.

Alexander stares at him for a moment before nodding (he’s not going to ask for another miracle, is he? He’s already met the quota for the day).

“Could you, in your role as the audience, give us…” Shakespeare wrings his hands as though at a loss for words, “more to work with?”

Alexander considers. “You mean, like when his father’s ghost came on, and I said ‘he’s behind you!’ Like that?” (He avoids Willie’s raised eyebrow - humans can be  _ fascinating  _ in their portrayals of the dead, okay?)

Shakespeare claps his hands together, “just so. That was jolly helpful. Made everyone on stage feel… appreciated. A bit more of…  _ that _ .”

He turns back to Burbage, onstage, who is standing with his hands on his hips, glaring in the direction of Alexander and Willie. “Good, Master Burbage, please. Speak the lines trippingly.”

Burbage shakes his head and waves his script around, “I am  _ wasting my time _ up here!”

And Alexander just can’t have that, he doesn’t like it much when humans feel as though they can’t give their all to a performance, so he shakes his head. “No, you’re very good! I love all the…” he falters. He’s not really sure how to compliment the man without seeming insincere. “Talking.” he finishes.

Burbage, seemingly not satisfied, gestures to Willie, beside him. “And what does your friend think?”

Alexander feels a flash of panic go through him, “oh, he’s not my friend. I don’t know them. Never met him before. Nope.” 

If someone Up There found out he’s been consorting with a demon in his spare time, there’d be Hell to pay, and that meant more than just paperwork.

He looks at Willie, who has an easy smile playing across their lips. “I think you should stop stalling,” he says, amusement in his voice.

Shakespeare takes this as his cue and waves a hand at Burbage. “Yes, Burbage, please. From the top.”

Burbage shakes his head but restarts the scene. “To be, or not to be…”

Alexander calls out, “To be!” A look from Willie. “Not to be!” An eyebrow raise. “Come on, Hamlet!” he calls. “You can do it!” he glances at the demon once again, and he thinks he can see the shadow of a smile on their lips.

“Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows…”

The two fall silent for a moment, and then Alexander leans over to Willie, “he’s very good, isn’t he?”

Willie considers. “Age does not wither, nor custom stales his infinite variety,” he says in an answer, and Alexander wants to poke them. He really does! The demon’s clearly been brushing up on his Old English (the dialects change so  _ swiftly  _ with humans. It’s a bit difficult to constantly have to change his accent to match the tone of the era.).

From the corner of his eye, he sees Shakespeare cock his head. “Huh,” he mutters, pulling out a notebook, “yeah. I like that!” He scribbles something down, most likely the phrase Willie’s just uttered, and Alexander shakes his head. He’ll surely be hearing something in one of Shakespeare’s new plays about infinite variety now.

Willie is glancing around and tapping his foot, a sure sign that something is on their mind, and Alexander sighs. “Okay, what do you want?”

Willie’s eyes snap to his (possibly. The demon barely takes off those stupid glasses anymore). “What makes you think I want something?”

Alexander rolls his eyes, gestures to Willie’s still tapping foot, “clearly, you want something. You are up to no good.”

Willie shrugs. “Obviously.  _ Demon,  _ remember? And you’re up to good, obviously,  _ angel _ .”

Alexander feels a tug in his gut that he dismisses as guilt from hanging out with a  _ demon _ .

Alexander rolls his eyes again, diverts the conversation to jobs. “I’m supposed to be in Edinburgh by the end of the week. A couple of blessings to do, a few minor miracles to pull off. Apparently, I have to ride a  _ horse _ ,” he cringes. “I don’t like horses. Their faces are  _ entirely  _ too long.” he glances furtively at the sky and mutters, “it’s a bit of a design flaw if you ask me.”

“Huh,” says Willie. “I’m supposed to be in Edinburgh, too. Tempting some clan leader into stealing some cattle.” There’s a conspiratorial edge to his voice, and Alexander automatically hardens his outer shell somewhat. “That doesn’t sound like much work,” he says carefully, and Willie smiles. “Well, it’s a bit of a wasted effort, then. Both of us going up to Scotland?”

He should have seen this coming. He  _ did  _ see it coming, a mile away, and he  _ let it happen _ . He’s a very bad angel.

He shuffles on his feet. “You aren’t actually thinking… I mean… you don’t mean what I think you do, do you?”

Willie cocks their head. “That depends. What do  _ you  _ think I mean?”

“One of us goes to Edinburgh and just does both tasks. The blessing and the tempting.”

“We’ve done it before. Lots of times now.”

And the thing is, he’s  _ right _ . It’s been Willie headed for Edo, gifting a young man with the talent of painting, and then doing a little demonic work, giving life to the dragon that the young man paints for the emperor, after he dots in the eyes. It’s been Alexander going to Italy and telling Queen Isabella to approve the explorer for the three ships he asks for, and then causing storms to sink two of them.

But just because it’s happened before, doesn’t mean it should happen again.

“The  _ arrangement _ -” Willie says, and Alexander draws in a breath. “Don’t  _ say that _ .”

Willie shrugs. “They don’t really care about  _ how  _ the jobs get done, just that they get done.”

Alexander bites his lip, tries another tactic. “If Hell finds out, they’ll destroy you.”

As he says it, he feels a bit of panic flare through him again, and he can’t explain why. He doesn’t care about Willie! He’s a  _ demon _ .

Willie smiles their easy smile, and damn it all to Hell, Alexander feels himself softening. “Nobody needs to know,” Willie sings, and Alexander’s resolve breaks.

He’s always had a soft spot for music.

“Fine.” he says, and Willie grins, pulling out a coin. 

“Flip you for Edinburgh.”

“Heads.”

Willie flips the coin, catches it, turns it flat on the top of their hand. A chuckle. “Too bad for you. Tails. You’re going to have to ride the horse.”

Alexander sighs a little, nods. He senses a lull in the conversation and turns back to the play. Shakespeare, standing nearby, is conversing with the fruit seller.

“It’s like this  _ every  _ time, Juliet,” he says, his arms crossed. “It’d take a miracle to get  _ anyone  _ to come and see Hamlet.”

Alexander’s ears perk at the word  _ miracle _ and he looks at Willie, his eyes innocent and wide, asking a silent question. Willie sighs, attempting to sound exasperated. The smile wide on their face betrays them, and he says, “yeah, okay, I’ll do that one. My treat.”

Alexander’s grin matches Willie’s, and he says, “really?”

Willie shrugs, clasping his hands. “I still like the funny ones better,” he says, and Alexander can tell they’re still going to do it.

If he were a naive angel, he’d say that Willie’s just the smallest bit  _ nice _ .

* * *

**_Bastille, Paris, 1793_ **

Willie can’t say what he’d been expecting when they’d debacled themself into the jail cell. Alex (as Willie had taken to calling the angel in his mind - they hadn’t brought it up with him yet) trying to reason with a happy Frenchman was not on the list.

Angry Frenchman?

Yes.

_ Happy?  _ This man is built for Hell, if he finds joy in the murder of innocent people, aristo or no.

He waves a hand and freezes the man, and Alex (facing away from him) pauses. He realizes that the man has stopped moving and straightens his coat, cringing at the sound of the falling guillotine blade outside.

“Animals,” he mutters.

“Animals don’t kill each other with scary machines, angel, only humans do that.” (They’ve also taken to calling Alex angel. He can’t say why.)

“Willie!” says Alex in a joyous tone. The angel turns around and takes in the sight of Willie leaning against the wall, their arms folded. “Oh, God.” he says in lieu of a greeting.

Willie pushes himself off the wall, unfolds their arms. “What in Heaven are you doing, locked up in the Bastille? I thought you were opening a music shop.”

Alex drops his gaze and mutters, “well, I was.”

Willie rolls their hand like  _ go on _ . Alex shifts. “Well… I got hungry.”

“ _ Hungry? _ ”

Alex huffs. “If you’re going to  _ keep  _ asking, I wanted a hot dog. They don’t…  _ do  _ them right at home. And the macarons.”

Willie raises an eyebrow. This angel can be the most cautious and yet the most  _ idiotic _ ever. “So you got hungry and thought you’d just poof across the Channel during a revolution, dressed like  _ that? _ ”

He’s a little bit angry. He can’t say why. It’s just that Alex is so  _ careless _ sometimes, and Willie gets  _ worried -  _ wait. No, he doesn’t. No. He doesn’t. He doesn’t  _ feel  _ things. This whole saving-the-angel-thing is to make sure  _ he  _ doesn’t get saddled with a new angel who will have new ways of doing things that will throw off Willie’s groove  _ entirely _ .

He gestures to Alex’s coat, which is rose pink, and his shoes, which are laced-up boots. “Bless it all to Heaven, Alex, you look like an aristo.”

Alex is thrown for a moment. “Alex?” he asks, and Willie realizes that the nickname has fallen from their lips. He shifts on his feet. “Yeah. It’s easier than saying Alexander all the time.” Then, at Alex’s innocently pleased look, he waves their hand. “ _ Don’t  _ look at me like that.”

Alex’s eyes drop. “I’d heard they’d gotten a little carried away, but…” he trails off, referring to the sounds of cheers from the crowd outside as another aristocrat’s head is cut off.

Willie shakes their head. “No, this isn’t ‘carried away’. This is cutting everyone’s heads off with a big head-cutting machine.” he pauses. “Why didn’t you just, you know, miracle yourself home?”

Alex bites his lip. “I… uh. I was reprimanded last month. Too many frivolous miracles. I got a… strongly worded memo from Gabriel.”

_ Good God _ , he thinks. Heaven is  _ much  _ more consistent in their checks on their employees than Hell. It seems like Alex is even…  _ scared  _ of them.

But he doesn’t say that, because he’s a demon, and demons don’t have emotional connections,  _ certainly  _ not with angels.

What they  _ do  _ say is this: “good thing I was around, huh?”

Alex nods. “Yeah. Why  _ are  _ you here, anyway?”

“My side sent me a commendation for ‘outstanding job performance’.” and they can see Alex wilt, just a little bit.

“So this was all you?” the angel asks, gesturing out the window where the crowd is. Willie shakes his head, laughs. “No, actually. The humans thought this up all by themselves. Nothing to do with me.”

Alex’s smile matches theirs, and he claps his hands. “I suppose I should thank you for the, uh, rescue.”

Willie’s eyebrows shoot up.  _ Thank you?  _ He didn’t do this for Alex, no way, they do  _ not  _ deserve a  _ thank you  _ from the angel. “Don’t  _ say  _ that,” he hisses (quite literally. He can feel their forked tongue slipping out from behind his teeth). “If my side found out I’d been helping an  _ angel,  _ I’d be the one in need of a rescue. And believe me, Hell does  _ not  _ send rude notes.”

And maybe the comment about the rude notes was uncalled for because he can tell that Gabriel’s memo affected the angel more than he let on, but  _ bless it,  _ he just got a blessed  _ thank you _ .

Alex shrugs. “Well, either way, I’m thankful. How about I buy you lunch, to make up for it?”

Willie looks Alex up and down again. “Looking like that?”

Alex looks down at his outfit and recognition dawns in his eyes. He waves a hand and the clothes swap with that of the man who was meant to be chopping Alex’s angelic head off, still frozen, turned to the wall.

Willie waves a hand and the man unfreezes. The door opens and guards come in and take him by his arms, dragging him out, babbling in French.

“Serves him right, dressed like that,” says Willie, trying to get a smile out of Alex. The angel flashes him a grin. “It was only a small miracle,” he says, reassuring himself. Willie nods, and he extends a hand to Alex. “What’s for lunch?” he asks.

Alex considers, taking the outstretched hand. “I’m thinking… hot dogs.”

* * *

**_St. James Park, London, 1862_ **

The ducks are a calming sight, Alex thinks. (He’s taken to the name Alex quickly, and he’s partially grateful to Willie for giving him the nickname. It feels like just the safest amount of rebellion from Up There, that he calls himself by a name that wasn’t gifted to him by Her).

Yes, ducks. They’re quite interesting. The… small black one, and the… green-headed one… well, he’s never been one for memorising the names of  _ ducks _ , anyway.

He senses a supernatural presence and turns to his left, where Willie always appears. The demon is wearing a tall hat and a black suit, which is quite unlike him.

“What are you  _ wearing? _ ” asks Alex, as a greeting. Willie shrugs, as if they’re picking up a conversation that had only paused. “I got a memo from Hell saying that I dressed too…  _ brightly. Angelic.  _ It seems they do send rude notes. Well, I’m wearing this for a while to throw them off the scent, and then I’ll be back to colour.”

Alex nods. “Ah.”

He’s never received a memo about the state of his clothing, but then he’s never worn a lot of dark colours. It’s just his pants, when humanity created them, that he’s kept black. Unlike most angels, though, he’s become quite partial to the colour pink. He tries to incorporate it into everything he wears, nowadays.

“So, what are we doing here?” he asks, moving the conversation along. It’s in everyone’s best interest not to linger in one place for very long. If Heaven or Hell found out…

“Right,” says Willie, and it’s in a tone that’s not normal for them, void of joy. “So, I’ve been thinking. What if it all goes wrong? We have a lot to lose, right? A lot in common, too.”

Alex cocks his head.  _ A lot in common?  _ Well, he  _ supposes  _ they both like music, and they both… oh. That has to be what Willie’s referring to.

“Yeah, but you Fell. I didn’t.”

By Willie’s small smile, he knows he’s got it. “I didn’t fall,” says the demon, a little sadly. “I just… sauntered vaguely downwards.”

Alex  _ does  _ poke them this time, and Willie springs back a little. “Hey!” he says. “What was that for?”

“You changed your dialect  _ again _ . Behind my  _ back _ .”

He doesn’t know why it annoys him so much, and Willie’s smirk is no help. “Jealous, angel?” he asks, and Alex feels that familiar tug of what he always dismisses as guilt that always comes when Willie calls him  _ angel, which  _ reminds him of his holiness.

And here he is, helping a  _ demon _ .

“What are we doing here?” he asks, returning to the conversation, and Willie’s smile slips off his face, replaced by a frown of seriousness.

“I… need a favor.” they say, and Alex’s eyebrows shoot up. “From me? Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one I…  _ trust _ to do this.” he spits the words out, and the tug comes back, stronger than before. “You…  _ trust  _ me?” asks Alex. 

Willie’s eyes meet his over the rims of their glasses. “In this. And only this.” They say it firmly, but Alex can hear the edge of desperation in his voice. He nods. “What is it?”

Willie fumbles out a slip of paper, hands it to the angel. “I wrote it down. I… I don’t want to risk anyone hearing. The walls have ears. Or, rather,” they glance around. “The… trees have ears. Or… ducks. Do ducks have ears?”

Alex lets Willie ramble as he unfolds the paper. The words that are printed there send a jolt of panic through his body, much stronger and fear-inducing than any little flares that crop up when he thinks about what could happen if Heaven or Hell found out about him and Willie.

He crumples the paper, and Willie’s head snaps up at the sound. “No  _ way _ ,” he says, his voice shaking, just a little. 

“Why not?”

_ Why not? It would… it would… _

“It would  _ destroy  _ you, Willie! I’m… I’m not bringing you a  _ suicide  _ pill!”

“It’s not for… that. It’s just insurance, really!” Willie’s tone is desperate now, and his snakelike eyes are almost fully visible behind the glasses, they’re glowing so bright.

“I’m not an idiot, Willie,” Alex says, his voice hardening. “Do you know the  _ trouble  _ I’d be in, we’d  _ both  _ be in, if Up or Down found out we’d been…  _ consorting? _ ”

He doesn’t mean that. Willie’s more than just… a consort. Alex isn’t really sure if he’s using that word right at all, but Willie isn’t… it.

Or, wait. Yes, he is. He’s not even that! He’s… an acquaintance. No, not even an acquaintance. An  _ enemy _ . A child of the  _ opposition _ . Yes, that’s what he is. A demon.

Alex ignores the pain that rumbles through him when Willie’s eyebrows shoot up and the demon repeats, “ _ consorting? _ ” in a hurt tone.

Alex looks away. “Whatever you want to call it.”

If he would admit it to himself, he wants to call it more. A little bit more. He wants to call it… no.

He needs to shut up.

He tosses the paper, bearing words that continue forcing panic through Alex’s body at every glance, into the water. “I think we’re done talking.”

As he walks away, he hears Willie calling after him, “fine! I have  _ plenty  _ of other people to  _ consort  _ with anyway,  _ Alexander!” _

It’s a low blow, using his angelic name when he’s the one who gave him his nickname, and Alex knows Willie knows it.

He keeps walking.

In his mind’s eye, the words written in Willie’s scrawling, looping script are seared into his memory. 

**_Holy water._ **


	2. Prologue, Part Two

**_London, 1941_ **

Alexander steps into the darkness of the church, gripping the records close to him. It’s a bit random that they just… morphed into records once he bought them, but perhaps that’s just the nature of books - or rather, records - of prophecy.

There’s a strip of moonlight that beams down upon him as he walks silently down the aisle. As he comes closer to the altar, he can feel the angelic energy rushing through the church. It reinforced him the moment he laid hands on the doors of the holy place.

The two men at the altar are Alex’s biggest issue of the moment. He feels a primal urge to run, but he’s an  _ angel _ . He can’t  _ run _ . Besides, he has protection, he reminds himself as he walks down the aisle. Dangers of discorporation in this scenario are little to none.

“Mr. Glozier, Mr. Harmony,” he says as he reaches the altar (definitely not their real names, but Alex is not one to judge. He’d be a hypocrite, otherwise).

“Mr. Mercer,” says Harmony (case in point: he’d gotten the name “Mercer” off a carton of milk). “You are late.”

Alex bites his lip. It’s fine.

“But not to worry,” says Glozier. “You have the books the Fuhrer requested?” 

Alex nods, fumbling the records out of his arms and handing them to the two men. “Yes, I do. Prophetic books. Well, records.” 

As the records are exchanged, they morph back into books, and maybe they just change form for whoever has them.

“Binns, Nixon, Shipton,” he rattles off the names of the authors (composers) of the prophecies, and the Nazis (oh yes. Did he mention they’re Nazis?) place the books on the altar table with a loud  _ thud _ .

“Yes, and the other book we told you to bring us? The one with all the true prophecies? You see, with true prophecies, the war is good as won.”

Now, this is what could, hypothetically, throw a wrench in his plan. “The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch,” he says. This is the record that he could not find, and he hopes that the Germans won’t mind  _ too  _ much. “Unfortunately, that one is basically the Holy Grail of prophetic records. It’s… unattainable.”

If he  _ had  _ The Nice and Accurate Prophecies, he wouldn’t be giving it to some idiotic  _ Nazis _ , anyway. A record like that would be  _ entirely  _ too valuable.

“The Fuhrer would also like the Holy Grail, if you have it,” says Harmony, and Alex blinks. Do these men… 

No. There’s no way they know he’s an angel, they wouldn’t be acting like this if they did. (Never mind that he doesn’t act all that much like an angel in the first place).

“Why are there no copies of Agnes Nutter’s book?” asks Harmony. “Well,” says Alex, thinking of how to phrase it, “it never sold. Not one copy. All the ones that were published were destroyed by the publisher.”

The two men’s faces grow angry, and Alex scrambles for a hold. “But… I did find  _ one  _ prediction in the publisher’s catalog! It was her prophecy for 1972!”

“Well, let’s have it, then,” says Glozier.

Alex adopts what he hopes is a mysterious and all-knowing look. “Do not buy Betamax,” he says mysteriously.

He has no clue what the prophecy means, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to blow the whole operation for it.

Harmony nods. “Well, you have been exceedingly helpful, Mr. Mercer. These books will be in Berlin by the end of the week.” he snaps the books into a briefcase on the altar next to him.

“Unfortunately,” says Glozier, pulling out a gun and pointing it at Alex, “you will not be with them.”

Alex feels a small jolt of panic at the sight of the gun, something primal, and he has to remind himself that  _ no, Alexander, you can’t die. You’ll just… be discorporated. And that’s not going to happen either, because you are perfectly safe. _

“You don’t look very concerned at the prospect of dying alone, my friend,” says Glozier.

“Well, that’s because he’s not alone,” comes a new voice, walking down the aisle behind Alex, and Alex feels relief shooting through him, and he grins.

“Who is _she?_ ” asks Harmony, indicating the woman who takes her place next to Alex, a gun in her hand, pointed at the two Nazis.

“ _ She,  _ my evil enemies,” says Alex (not his best insult, but he’s never been very good anyway), “is the reason  _ none  _ of those records are going to Berlin! Let me introduce you to Captain Rose Montgomery, of British Military Intelligence!” As he says the words, he feels a flare of pride shoot through him, like  _ ha, you’ve been played for a sucker, Germans.  _ (it’s an American phrase that he really does like).

He relays that thought to the men, (“I believe the phrase is that you’ve been played for a sucker, gentlemen,”) and he’s almost floating on a wave of pride and something like euphoria. Look at him! He’s  _ fighting Nazis!  _ Surely no  _ other  _ angels can claim to do such.

“And,” he continues, “she has a whole slew of military men surrounding this very church!”

“Yes, about that-” says Rose and Alex’s ears catch. Maybe if he were a little more distracted by his pride, he’d be able to disregard Rose’s tone, but he’s Alexander, angel of the Eastern Gate, and he’s been overthinking things since the Creation.

“You…  _ do  _ have back up, right, Rose?” he asks, biting his lip and looking at the short woman beside him.

There’s a pause, and then… 

“Of course she does,” says Glozier. “We’re right here,” says Harmony. They laugh evilly, and Rose walks away from Alex and to the side of Glozier, pointing her gun at  _ Alex _ .

“Allow  _ me  _ to introduce Fraulein Greta Kleinschmidt,” says Glozier, a smirk on his face. “She works with  _ us. _ ”

“I must remember that,” mutters Harmony, pulling out a notepad and scribbling into it, “played for a sucker. You are played for a sucker, I am played for a sucker, he, she, they,  _ it _ is played for a sucker.” he snaps the notepad closed.

Alex  _ has  _ been played for a sucker.

He doesn’t like that phrase anymore.

“Now, back to the matter at hand,” says Harmony, exchanging the notepad for a gun of his own. “Killing  _ you _ .”

Alex folds his arms, pouting only a little. “You can’t kill me!” he whines. “There’ll be  _ paperwork! _ ”

And probably a punishment from Gabriel for allowing himself to be discorporated, but he’s trying to avoid the knowledge of that.

One of the guns clicks, and Alex shuts his eyes. He’s gone from euphoric and proud to cross and a little bit scared. Can he be hurt by a gun? He doesn’t know. How much will it hurt if it  _ does _ ? Can he bleed out? How fast will he be discorporated? Will it be quick, like a human life, or slow, like God’s Creating the universe?

He should have asked for instructions, or a quick-start guide, or  _ something _ before he’d been sent down here!

He waits for the sound of the bullet leaving the gun, but it doesn’t come. When he opens his eyes, the three Nazis are staring over his shoulder.

He hears sounds of discomfort and turns around to see…

_ Damn it all to Hell,  _ that demon is  _ stupid _ . This is consecrated ground, for Her sake!

Willie is walking down the aisle behind him, swearing and jumping from foot to foot as he comes closer. His hair, usually down over their back, is pulled into a low bun at the nape of his neck, wisps escaping and floating around his face. He’s wearing a pair of black pants that Alex can immediately tell they don’t like, but it does seem he’s bringing his colour back, because their shirt is a lovely minty green colour, with sleeves that swallow his hands.

Willie swears again and says, “sorry, it’s just -  _ bless it -  _ consecrated ground -  _ fucking Heaven -  _ it’s like walking on the beach in bare feet.”

Alex throws up his hands. “What are you doing here?”

Willie throws a glance his way, “I’m stopping you from getting into trouble, of course.” There’s that familiar tug in Alex’s gut again.

“I should have known,” he says. “These people work for you!” he gestures to the - moderately confused - Nazis. Willie huffs. “No, of course not! They’re a bunch of moronic Nazi spies running around London murdering people!”

They lean on a pew for a moment and then go back to his pacing and hopping. “I just don’t want to see  _ you  _ embarrassed. You’ll spiral over it for the next two hundred years,  _ don’t  _ try to deny it, and I’m saving the  _ both  _ of us from that.”

“Oh. That’s…”  _ weirdly nice, for a demon. _

Glozier clears his throat -  _ oh, right, the Nazis. They’re here, too.  _ Alex had momentarily forgotten.

“Mr. Willie W. Williamson. Your fame precedes you.” 

He shakes his head. “ _ Williamson? _ ” he repeats. This is new. Willie shrugs. “You don’t like it?”

Again, he shakes his head. “I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it.” And he will. It’s easy to get used to Willie.

Wait. No. He’s not being  _ nice  _ to a demon in his mind! No, no  _ way _ .

“Ah, the famous Mr. Williamson!” says Rose -  _ Greta _ . “It’s such a pity you must  _ both  _ die.” She points her gun at Willie.

The anxiety Alex was feeling moments before had vanished when the demon walked into the church (never thought he’d be thinking those words), and even now, with R -  _ Greta  _ pointing her gun at Willie, it isn’t there. He continues with the conversation as though the Nazis aren’t even there. It’s easy to pretend that, now.

“What does the W stand for?”

Willie ducks their head and mutters, “Wilbur.” Alex has to bite down hard on his lip to keep from laughing.  _ Willie Wilbur Williamson _ .

Better than just  _ Willie Nolastname _ , he guesses. That was  _ actually  _ one of the candidates when the pair were trying to come up with more human names. Alex and Willie had worked fine, but for the most part, they resembled human adults, so other humans would expect them to have last names.

Alex got Mercer quite quickly (he’d been drinking milk at the time, he got tired of the taste of alcohol), but Willie still hadn’t anything by the time he’d left Alex’s music shop.

Alex had been expecting something silly, but…

_ Willie Wilbur Williamson.  _

It’s… almost perfect. 

_ NOPE NOPE NOPE HE’S AN ANGEL THAT’S NOT HOW THIS WORKS _ .

The alarm signals in his mind snap him out of his reverie, and Willie is talking about holy water. There’s a whole fontful in the corner of the room, and “it’s not even guarded!” says Willie, and Alex feels a small jolt of panic. He’d thought the demon had given up on the holy water thing.

He clears his throat and Willie looks over to him, hopping on one foot. Alex jerks his head toward the Nazis, conveying a silent  _ take care of them, please?  _ Willie nods.

“Right.” He swaps feet.

Before they have a chance to say whatever it is he was meaning to say, Harmony huffs. “Enough babbling. Kill them both.”

The guns in Glozier and Greta’s hands cock, and Willie throws their hands up. “Wait, wait, wait!” he rushes out, “in about a minute, a German bomber will drop a bomb  _ right here _ . If you all run away right now, very very quickly, you  _ might  _ not die. You won’t enjoy dying, and you  _ definitely  _ won’t enjoy what comes after.”

Alex can’t tell if he’s referring to Heaven or Hell. Though he’s never been to Hell, it doesn’t seem very different from Heaven. A hierarchy always screaming orders, shouting at you when you do something wrong, kicking you out to guard the gates of Eden when you drop a vat of holy water.

But that’s not the point. The point is… 

_ That’s  _ Willie’s plan.

Well, it’s not the worst plan he’s ever had. Alex has repressed the memory of their trip - no,  _ job  _ in Cairo.

The Nazis look at each other and laugh. “You expect us to believe that?” scoffs Glozier. “The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.”

“Yes,” says Willie, if a little exasperated-like. “And it would take a last-second  _ demonic intervention  _ to alter the course of one single bomber.”

After a pause, he huffs. “You’re  _ all  _ wasting your valuable running away time!” At this point, he looks as though they’re very close to just leaping onto one of the pews.

“And,” they continue, “ _ if  _ in a minute, a bomb  _ does  _ fall here, it would take a real  _ miracle  _ for both my friend and I to survive it.”

Alex takes a moment to process  _ friend _ because  _ what in Hell? They aren’t friends!  _ And then he notices Willie looking at him expectantly. “A real - a real miracle. Yeah. Right.”

Harmony flaps his hand. “Kill them, they are very irritating.”

Willie shrugs, leaps onto the pew, and points to the sky.

Slowly, the now-familiar whistle of a falling bomb becomes louder and louder, and the German’s heads slowly tilt up with the sound.

There are maybe three seconds where Willie locks eyes with Alex and Alex flicks his finger very subtly, and then the church explodes around them.

When the smoke clears and Alex’s eyes stop stinging, the church is in pieces around them. Willie is standing freely on the ground, as an exploded church is not a church anymore at all.

Unless your place of worship is traditionally an exploded church. In which case,  _ then  _ an exploded church is a church.

Anyway.

Willie has his hands in his pockets and is glancing around at the rubble. Alex clears his throat. “That was really nice.”

Willie folds his arms. “Shut up.”

That’s the appropriate response when an angel calls a demon  _ nice,  _ which Alex appreciates, but he can also see the ghost of a smile on the demon’s lips.

He shrugs. “Well, it was,” this is the appropriate response for an angel when one denies a compliment (good Lord, he  _ complimented a demon _ ). “No paperwork, at least.”

His gratitude extends a little farther than that, but there’s  _ no way  _ he’s acknowledging it. 

Then he realizes.

“Oh, the  _ records!  _ I forgot to bless the  _ records! _ ” Most of the prophetic records he’d given the Germans were  _ priceless _ , and he prides himself on  _ not ever  _ losing or hurting  _ one  _ thing that goes through his shop. He barely ever  _ sells  _ anything!

“They’ll all be blown to bits!” he frets, and then Willie uncrosses his arms, clearing their throat. He locates a hand in the rubble, connected to an arm, holding the strap of a briefcase, and extracticates said briefcase from said hand.

Alex watches, eyes wide, as Willie offers the briefcase to him, a real smile on their lips. “A little debacle of my own.”

Alex takes the case, shock rippling through his mind, accompanied with another feeling, one he can’t name, but it’s… nice.

It’s a nice feeling.

“Ride home?” offers Willie, the only one of the two of them who takes great care in personal transportation and therefore owns a car.

After a moment, the shock gone, Alex follows them, the nice feeling still flowing freely in his mind.

* * *

**_Soho, London, 1967_ **

The room that he’s planning this thing is dimly lit in red lights, made for poker. There are two humans sitting around the table, and he’s still waiting on a third.

“Spike,” he says, flicking their hair over his shoulder, “you’re the muscles, you’ll be hauling her,” he indicates the slight woman with beautifully curled hair sitting opposite Spike, “down the ropes.”

The man  _ does  _ have quite nice muscles if he admits it to himself.

He wonders if the angel has muscles like that. They’ve never seen him without sleeves.

_ Good God, demon, keep your mind off the opposition _ .

Spike opens his mouth, but then Willie senses a fourth presence in the room, and they hold up a hand. “Hold up.”

He looks up at the man who has taken the empty chair, across from him. “Who are you?” he asks, looking over the top of his glasses.

The man raises an eyebrow. “I understand you need a locksman.”

Willie sits back. “You’re Mr. Narker, then?” 

“No, Mr. Narker’s passed on to his reward. I’ve taken over the business. He taught me everything he knows. He was my cellmate. My name’s Shadwell.”

The man has a very strong Scottish accent, and there are weird-looking pins covering his jacket, which resembles a raincoat.

“Lance Corporal Shadwell, if you don’t mind,” says Shadwell. Lance Corporal Shadwell.

“So what’s so valuable that they’re going to leave it in a church at night?” asks the woman, who gave her name as  _ Juno _ , though it’s probably fake.

Willie’s not one to judge, though. He still giggles a little whenever he thinks about  _ Willie Wilbur Williamson _ . 

And they’re not about to say that he wants to steal  _ holy water _ , he draws enough strange looks as it is, with the name, and with the eyes, and the length of his hair. And with the occasional forked tongue slip.

He doesn’t take his glasses off as much anymore, mostly only when they’re at home, or around the angel.

He’s just… not had that good a year.

Caleb’s taken a sudden deep interest in his life on Earth, and from what he hears from Alex, so has Gabriel, in the angel’s. They’ve seen each other less and less over the past year. 

But not the point.

“We’ll go over the details of what you’re getting me when we get there,” he says, smoothing over Juno’s question, “you will all be  _ very  _ well paid.” They take out a few stacks of bills that he didn’t really have a problem in taking from the bank a few streets away.

Shadwell has his hand up.

“Yes, Lance Corporal?” he asks. If this is about how vague he’s being, he  _ will  _ leave the room.

“Stealing from a church,” says Shadwell. “There’s nae…  _ witchcraft  _ involved here, is there?”

Of all the questions he’d been expecting, they  _ did not  _ think of  _ witchcraft  _ being one of them. 

“No,” they say, after a moment’s silence. “It’s a… completely witch-free robbery.”

Shadwell hums. “Pity. You yourself are not a witch, warlock, or someone who calls yourself funny names, are you, sir?”

_ God Almighty,  _ he needs to incorporate more color into their wardrobe if he’s being mistaken for a  _ witch  _ now.

“No. Not a witch. No pets.” He  _ does  _ have a fine supply of plants at home (or rather the apartment where he takes residence. He doesn’t really have a place he can call  _ home _ .)

The name  _ Alexander  _ springs to mind, when he thinks of home, accompanied by the warm back room of a music shop called  _ Sunset Curve,  _ but they never let himself dwell on that for too long. It’s not exactly healthy, seeing as how, well, he’s a demon and Alex is, well. An angel. And even though every time they go there, he leaves feeling something strange that he doesn’t think a demon is meant to be feeling, the visits have become few and far between, because of, well. Caleb and Gabriel.

“Any other… questions?” he asks.

“What are we getting paid?” asks Spike.  _ Now, this is a question they can answer easily _ . He separates the money in his hands into stacks. “A hundred now,” he hands a stack each to the three humans, “a hundred when the job’s finished,” he keeps it to himself, “and another hundred to keep your mouths shut.” He adds to each pile.

The three nod, apparently understanding, if not  _ fully  _ doing so, the severity of Willie’s situation.

He nods back, calling the meeting to a close. Tomorrow, they’ll do it.

Outside is equally as dim and reddish as inside. Willie fishes around in their pocket for  _ something  _ to fiddle with, a cigarette, maybe, for appearances, a hair tie, to pull back his brown locks, or to tie a braid, once he’s finished with it. They fiddle with things now, more often. It’s a habit they’ve picked up from Alex.

He’s picked up a lot of things from Alex.

He listens to more music now, since the angel  _ always  _ has it playing when they hang out at the shop.

If he closes their eyes and tunes out the world, they can imagine he’s laughing with the angel about a new human thing, or about Alex’s most recent attempt to keep a human from buying a record. That’s the thing about Alex, he loves his music, to the point where he will do everything to stop a customer from buying it.

Humans have tried to shut down the shop before, sure, but that would be like taking holy water from a church when you’re a demon.

Near impossible.

“Mr. Williamson? May I have a moment of your time?”

A Scottish voice snaps him out of their reverie, and he focuses on a tall blond man in a weird-looking raincoat, covered with pins.

He snaps his fingers. “Shadwell. Lance Corporal Shadwell. Right. What do you need?”

Shadwell looks furtively around and steps closer to Willie. “You might remember, earlier this evening, I asked a rather…  _ pointed question  _ about witchcraft.”

_ Does he remember. _

“Yes.”

“Well,” continues Shadwell, still keeping the tone of someone who is trying very hard to be dramatic about something that isn’t very dramatic at all, “I am a proud member of an enormous organization. Vast. A secret army that battles the forces of witchery.”

Willie wonders if he’s supposed to be impressed. They are aware of maybe three underground covens of witches in London alone, so it’s a bit clear that this army doesn’t do its work very well. “How nice for you,” they say.

“The Witchfinder Army. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” there’s a hopeful tone to Shadwell’s voice.

_ No, he hasn’t heard of it. Are they supposed to have?  _

“I thought it was a secret army.”

Shadwell pauses. “Well, you never know when a gentleman such as yourself might have need for such an organization. A man with… hundreds of pounds to throw around.”

Ah. So that’s what all this is about. The money.

Well, they can always steal more.

“If you need us,” Shadwell places his hands on his hips. “The Witchfinder Army are here for you.”

Willie isn’t sure that’s the best decision for a  _ Lance Corporal  _ to make, as last he checked, Lance Corporals were rather near the bottom of the barrel, in the hierarchy of the army.

“All of them? A whole army?”

Shadwell deflates, only a little bit, and then hands Willie a business card. “Think it over.”

And then he’s gone.

Willie lingers outside the bar for a few more moments, and then, ducking their head, makes his way to the car parked only a few feet away. He’d skateboarded here (that’s the one good thing to come out of this century: skateboards. They’re a bigger thing in America, but when Willie visited California last, he picked one up and instantly loved it), but the cool thing about  _ their  _ board is that it’s able to change shape between board and car, whenever he sees fit.

It’s usually in its board form, but they aren’t in the mood to skate back to his place of residence tonight. And… maybe he shouldn’t go back to  _ Sunset Curve  _ until this whole scheme is over and he has that holy water.

Until Caleb stops with the Sherlock Holmes-esque investigations. (He’d read the stories when Doyle first started publishing them, they were really quite good. Sherlock would make an excellent demon, and Watson would pass for a great angel).

Then maybe the guilt he’s been feeling whenever he’s around the angel will go away.

When he gets in the car, they reach for the ignition, and then realizes that he is not alone. It’s been maybe two months since he’s seen the angel properly.

“What are you doing here?”

Alex is sitting stiffly in the passenger’s seat of the car, biting his lip and twisting his fingers around. “I’m going to cut to the chase. You’re planning on  _ stealing holy water  _ tomorrow?”

“How did you-”

“I work in Soho, I hear things. Don’t deflect.” He looks Willie in the eyes, and Willie can see the pain and fear building up behind Alex’s pupils.

“Willie, this is  _ entirely  _ too dangerous, I mean, even for a demon! If something went wrong, you wouldn’t just be discorporated, you’d be…” his voice trails off and he grips his hands tightly together.

“You told me what you think 105 years ago.” says Willie shortly. It’s a low blow, even for a demon, and Willie can see they’ve affected Alex quite a bit, because the angel ducks his head and falls silent.

“And I haven’t changed my mind,” Alex mutters. He clears his throat. “But there’s no  _ way  _ I’m letting you risk your life. Not even for something dangerous.”

Willie doesn’t want to think that Alex is  _ finally  _ giving in to them, but the angel reaches down near his feet and withdraws a tall thermos with a mug for a cap.

So he is giving in.

That’s  _ stupid!  _ Alex is  _ supposed  _ to be the one to put up a fight, to make sure Willie  _ doesn’t  _ get destroyed by holy water by restricting them  _ completely  _ from it!

But it’s been a hard year on Alex, too, Willie can tell. This whole… higher-ups investigation, being apart… thing has meant that the Arrangement hasn’t been able to continue as they’d first laid it out, and that means that Alex is doing a lot more work than he’d been doing. They both are. 

That has to be the only reason Alex is somber.

Willie thinks that the main reason why they’ve such an issue with the investigation is that it could only mean one thing.

Armageddon.

It’s been looming since the get-go, since he fell, that at some point, somewhere in time, they’d have to contribute their power to a war with Heaven. 

It was in 1862 that Willie first realized it. They distracted themself from it, spent time with the angel, spent time away from Heaven and Hell, spent time doing the temptations assigned him, tried to forget everything they’d ever been taught about his purpose as a demon (to help Hell win the Great War against Heaven), but for some reason, this past year, it’s been catching up to him.

Maybe it was that whole stint where humanity had those World Wars. Maybe it just drew his attention to it. And Caleb investigating him, Gabriel investigating Alex, it can only mean that they’re making sure that each being, demon and angel, are ready for what comes.

They don’t know when Armageddon is supposed to happen, when the child of his Overlord is set to be brought into the world, only that, going by Caleb and Gabriel, it’s going to be sooner rather than later, and if he is completely honest with themself, that thought terrifies him. 

He isn’t Alex, he can’t just… refuse to think something just because it goes against how he was made. Maybe it’s because he was made to  _ be  _ a demon. And demons are made to  _ be  _ rebellious, to see things differently, so it’s easier to tempt beings into the Hellish side of things.

And here he is, sitting in their car, looking at Alex, who is holding a tall thermos with a mug for a cap with fear in his eyes, biting his lip.

Willie opens their mouth. “Is that the real thing?”

Alex nods. “The holiest.”

They lick their lips, gingerly, delicately, taking the thermos from the angel. He doesn’t think to put on gloves, but then they shouldn’t need to in the first place, Alexander would  _ never  _ let a  _ drop  _ of holy water touch the side of this thermos.

“Should I say thank you, then?” asks Willie. He doesn’t know how to accept gifts, especially ones from Alex.

The angel looks around. “No, you shouldn’t.”

“Can I drop you anywhere?”

It looks like Alex is about to reply with  _ yes _ , and Willie desperately wants him to say  _ take me to the music shop. Come in with me. Let’s talk and laugh and play music until dawn.  _

They don’t recognize the feeling that’s been swirling in his gut alongside the guilt since… well, maybe since the beginning, or at least since Rome, 41 A.D. They don’t know why it’s so hard to hear when Alex says, “No, thank you.”

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed,” says Alex hopefully. “Maybe one day, we could, I don’t know, have a picnic. See a band play in Hyde Park.”

Willie knows that isn’t going to happen any time soon, so they grasp for what they have here, now. “I’ll give you a ride, anywhere you want to go.” they rush out.

Alex looks at him. “You go too fast for me, Willie.”

And that.

Well.

That’s that, he supposes, because the next instant, Alex is gone in a flash of angelic light, and Willie is left alone in the car, the thermos of holy water the only indication that Alex was ever here.

He bangs the steering wheel a few times, and it doesn’t  _ really  _ make them feel good, but it’s a loud noise and it’s something you aren’t supposed to do to a steering wheel, so there’s that.

As he’s driving back home -  _ to their place of residence _ , he tries to do what Alex does when faced with a panic and anxiety-inducing thought.

_ Maybe this whole investigation is because of something else. Maybe I just slipped up in my last bout of paperwork. Yes, I think I remember taking credit for that whole Prohibition thing. I certainly didn’t do that. These humans are all so odd. It’s like they don’t even  _ need  _ a demonic presence in their lives to just… do demon-y things. _

By the time they get to the apartment, they almost believe it.

Maybe the next year will be okay. Maybe Armageddon will happen in  _ another  _ six thousand years, and he  _ can  _ go see that concert with Alex.

The thought makes them smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter two!!! it be here!!!! wooooo!!!!!
> 
> i was going to hold off until tomorrow to post this but its clowngate over on tumblr so im contributing to the clownery on both platforms
> 
> so uh yeah!!! 
> 
> i've got exactly one chapter on backlog right now, i'm hoping to keep it that way until this fic finishes, like for every one chapter i post, i have one on backlog so yeah
> 
> anywho
> 
> go read "All That Remains" by pawprinter on here because LORD ESSIE DESTROYED ME THIS MORNING IT WAS TOO EARLY FOR THAT ANGST
> 
> anywho kudos and comments are greatly appreciated as always :)
> 
> fair winds, lovelies!!  
> -rainy<3
> 
> ps here's the link to a [discord server](https://discord.gg/AKkmdWRcZY) if yall wanna join!
> 
> pps if you want to see more of the inner workings of my fabulous mind and some clownery, come scream at me on [tumblr!](https://fairylightsandrainydays.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS GALS AND NONBINARY PALS I AM BACK
> 
> HELLO HELLO HELLO (if anyone heard that in Caleb's voice before Nothing to Lose you get bonus points)! Happy Clowngate 4.0 to all my Fantoms on Tumblr, and happy one day after the six month anniversary of JATP to all my non-Fantoms on Tumblr! You are all awesome and I would trust us to stop Armageddon or at least get it trending on Tumblr /j
> 
> I don't know when I'll be posting the next chapter of this fic, maybe next week? Maybe earlier? Definitely not later!
> 
> Okay, as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> fair winds, my lovely lovely readers!  
> -rainy<3
> 
> ps as per usual, the link to a [discord server](https://discord.gg/AKkmdWRcZY) that you can join!
> 
> pps also as per usual, if you want to come and see more of the inner workings of my fabulous mind, come scream at me on [tumblr!](https://fairylightsandrainydays.tumblr.com/)


End file.
